


The Soles of the hungry

by ouch_my_soul



Category: The Hunger Games, The Hunger Games (Books), The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Book/Movie 1: The Hunger Games, Friendship, Madge Undersee POV, Mild Angst, POV Cinna, POV Gale Hawthorne, POV Madge Undersee, but it's the hunger games so what did you expect, everyone is angsty, except for Cinna he's chill, purposely misspelled title, sad Madge Undersee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouch_my_soul/pseuds/ouch_my_soul
Summary: POV Madge Undersee:I wake up to my ever silent house, light filtering in through my window and caressing my face. I sit up, still in my nightclothes, and lightly pad into my mother's room the way I do every morning. Some days are better than others. Sometimes she’ll give me a smile, or stroke my cheek, or even tell me that she loves me. Not today. Never today. This is the day where she lost it all. This is the day of the reaping.
Relationships: Cinna & Katniss Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen & Madge Undersee, Madge Undersee and her parents, Maysilee Donner & Mrs. Undersee, implied Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne - Relationship
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! this is my first ever fic. I did it for a school project because I've always thought it would be super cool to read POVs of different characters in the hunger games. I was really proud of this, and I've been using this site for years but I've never posted anything, so I thought hey, why not? any comments/kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy the fic!
> 
> (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

POV Madge Undersee:  
I wake up to my ever silent house, light filtering in through my window and caressing my face. I sit up, still in my nightclothes, and lightly pad into my mother's room the way I do every morning. Some days are better than others. Sometimes she’ll give me a smile, or stroke my cheek, or even tell me that she loves me. Not today. Never today. This is the day where she lost it all. This is the day of the reaping.

When I open the door, she’s sitting up in bed, staring at the wall. I don’t bother calling out to her. I know she won't be able to hear me. Instead, I grab a hairbrush from her dresser, sit behind her, and begin gently unraveling the knots in her hair. I need to make her presentable today. If I could, I would leave her in bed with a cup of tea and a kiss on the cheek, but today, she needs to attend the reaping. 

Making her show up is a particularly cruel punishment, but sadly, she must. The only people excused from the reaping are those who are sick, and unfortunately, the Capitol doesn’t see immobilizing sadness as a sickness. Of course they don’t. They’re the ones who caused it, and to even suggest that they’ve done anything wrong is treason.

When my mother was younger, young enough to still be eligible for the reaping, she had a twin sister named Maysilee. Maysilee was my mother’s best friend, her other half. Before Maysilee was taken and killed in the games, my mother was full of life and happiness. Or so they say. I’ve never seen her that way. She hardly leaves bed anymore. Just another way the Capitol keeps power. We’re in the upper class, sure, but no one is really safe. Even when you win, you lose to them.

On days when she’s trapped in her crippling depression, we face the world with a smile and act as if nothing is wrong. We dismiss her sadness as bad headaches, and on most day’s she’s pardoned from attending any important events. We’ve never risked it on the reaping, however, from fear of the peacekeepers who will inevitably come by to search the house

Once her hair is brushed, I help her stand up and dress into a simple outfit. It’s nice enough to be appropriate reaping attire without drawing attention or making her uncomfortable. As soon as I’m done helping her she crawls back under the covers to wait for father and I to get ready.

Biting back a sigh, I pull on a white dress. It’s much too fancy for my taste, but as the mayor’s daughter I have to look my best. It’s ridiculous how they dress us up like lambs to the slaughter, but as I tie my hair up in a pink ribbon, I let it go. I know that my likelihood of being a tribute is close to nothing. That didn’t save Aunt Maysilee. That didn’t save my mother.

When my hair is secure I pin aunt Maysilee’s old pin to my dress. It’s a mockingjay. The bird is sort of a smack in the face to the Capitol, because it was never meant to exist. During the rebellion, the Capitol genetically altered animals to help them during the war. One of these animals was called a jabberjay, which could memorize and repeat human conversations. The rebels soon discovered this, however, and used it to feed lies to the Capitol. When they found out, The Capitol released them to the wild to die out. However, they mated with mockingbirds, and created the mockingjay.

I wear it every year in remembrance of Maysilee. In remembrance of the woman my mother used to be. Most of all, I wear it in defiance of the Capitol and their games. I will not go silent. I will not die out.

I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, where my father is reading the paper. 

“How is she?” he asks, not even looking up from his reading.

“As well as she can be, given the circumstances.”

My father sighs. He truly loves my mother, even in her current state. He tells me that when they were younger, they would eat strawberries together and watch the sun set. He’s always been fond of strawberries, but they’re my mother’s favorite. Sometimes, when she feels good enough to get out of bed, she’ll make a strawberry pie for us and we’ll all have a nice evening together.  
Not today. Never today.

The doorbell rings and snaps me out of my thoughts. Looking at my father’s forlorn face, I smile softly.

“I’ll get it,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.

When I open the door, Katniss and Gale are standing on the other side, with half a gallon of strawberries to sell to us. I know them from school. Katniss and I are both very quiet and introverted, so we often end up together at school. We don’t talk much, but we understand each other, and I find solace in her quiet companionship..

“Pretty dress,” says Gale.

I squint at him, trying to see what he meant by that. It is a pretty dress, but it’s not like I want to be wearing it. It’s not my fault I have to look presentable, or that my family is more financially stable than his is. Even with that advantage, the games managed to tear my family apart. 

The comment irks me, but in the end I just purse my lips and smile. “Well if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?”

I’m being sarcastic of course. It’s ridiculous that we’re meant to dress up like this, because if we’re sent to the games our outfits will be the least of our worries. I can tell I’ve stumped him, though.

“You won’t be going to the Capitol,” Gale says coolly. He eyes my pin, Which is, to be fair, very valuable. Of course, he doesn’t know the real reason why I wear it. “What can you have? Five entrees? I had six when I was just twelve years old.”

And Maysilee had only seven. Yet here we are.

Once you turn twelve you become eligible for the reaping. That year your name goes into the drawing once. The next year, twice. The year after that, three times. This goes on until you are 18, when your name can no longer be chosen. However, if your family is struggling, you can sign up for tesserae. Each tessera is one years supply of grain and oil for one person. You can add a tessera for each person in your family. The entrees are cumulative, and you add on more entrees every year you need to do this. I, of course, have never had too. But people like Gale and Katniss- well, Gale must have his name in forty-something times, and Katniss… Katniss...

“That’s not her fault,” Katniss says, defending me.  
Suddenly I am terrified for her. Sure, we’re not super close, and we’re nowhere near what Maysilee and my mother were, but she’s my best friend. My only friend really. I don’t want to lose her.

“No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is.”

Just the way it is. I hate those words. I feel my anger bubbling, but I hide it. Close off my expression. Pay for the berries.

“Good luck, Katniss.”

“You too,” she replies, and then I’m closing the door. Luck is something my family has never had. I lean against the door and close my eyes. Today is going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

POV Gale Hawthorne:  
As we walk away from the Mayor’s house, I’m still smoldering. Who does this girl think she is? She knows nothing of our struggles and hardships, nothing of pain and loss. We keel over from starvation all the time, and there she is in her pretty white dress buying strawberries for her wealthy father.I’ve been single handedly feeding a family of five for years, risking my life in the woods and taking tessara after tessara, all while my my mother slaves away, washing people’s clothes for money that barely keeps us going. And we’re on the higher end of the spectrum. There are families that are lucky to see a bite of food for weeks, families with children who have even more tessera than I do, and this girl is talking about ending up in the Capitol like it’s some dinner party her father is hosting.

I know my anger at her is misdirected. The tessera are just another way the Capitol plants hatred between the starving folk of the seam and the upper class who can generally afford to feed themselves. It’s to the advantage of the Capitol to have its citizens divided. Not to mention, I really know nothing of this girl’s life, of her losses. That comment she made may have even been a smack in the face to the Capitol. But then I remember her gold pin flashing in the light and the anger is back. What reason could she have to be spiteful toward the capitol? Because she feels bad for us? It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve reached the seam, and unlike some people, I have a family to go home and feed.

Katniss and I divide our spoils, leaving me with two fish, a couple of loaves of bread, salt, Paraffin, a quart of strawberries, greens, and a bit of money. 

“See you in the square,” says Katniss.

“Wear something nice,” I reply flatly, thinking bitterly of the dress Madge was wearing.

As I trek home with my hunting bag, some of my anger dissipates. I can feel the tension leaving my shoulders as I near our small house. I open the door and set down my bag on the table.

“Gale!” Posy cries, running straight toward me. She’s wearing a pink dress with a ribbon tied round the waist. Posy’s the only girl in our family other than my mom, so her dress was made from fabric from one of my mother’s old reaping dresses. 

The last of the anger I was feeling leaves my body as I scoop her up in my arms and twirl her around.

“The princess is looking lovely today,” I say, smiling softly at her. She giggles, and I pretend I can’t feel her ribs through the fabric of her dress.

My mother comes around the corner wearing a long sleeved dress with a pleated skirt. Her hips are wide from childbirth and her posture is bad from sitting doing washing all day, but I still think she looks beautiful. 

“Rory and Vick are getting ready,” she says, scooping up Posy to tie her hair into pigtails. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” I reply. “We had a reasonable haul. Made some good trades.”

“And how is Katniss?” My mother asks, giving me a knowing look.

I ignore this pointedly. My mom can read people like an open book, especially those she knows well, like Katniss and me.

“As well as she can be, given the circumstances. I think she’s worried for Prim, with it being her first reaping and all.”

My mother and I fell silent at that. It’s Vick’s first reaping too, and of course we worry about him as well. Vick isn’t like Prim, though. Prim is something else. She’s the sunlight poking through the leaves in the woods and caressing the ground. She's the flowers in the meadow that are protected from the woods by the fence that keeps out wild animals. Her kindness and light is unlike any other. Nobody can help but love her. 

The games would crush her.

Vick and Prim won’t be going into the games, though. They only have one entree each, and we’re only worried about how this might affect them mentally. The odds are in their favor. Madge is more likely to go into the games than they are. 

Maybe that would teach her a lesson.

When Vick and Rory come down the stairs, we all eat some bread, although none of us are very hungry. Conversation falls flat, and even Posy can tell something is wrong. After what seems like forever, 1 o’clock rolls around and we’re headed out the door. We head to the square, where twelve through eighteen year olds are signing in and filing into their age designated areas. The Reaping is a good way to keep tabs on the population while also reminding the districts how powerless they are at the hands of the Capitol.

During the reaping, one girl and one boy from each of the twelve districts are randomly selected from thousands of names to compete in The Hunger Games. The twenty four tributes from the districts all battle to the death until there is only one remaining. Tributes from twelve seldom win for a plethora of reasons. For one thing, they have no formal training, while tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have been training for the chance to compete in the games from a young age.Tributes from twelve also seldom get sponsors. Not to mention the fact that they're often starving before they even enter the arena. For these reasons, and more, we only have one living victor, a middle aged drunkard by the name of Haymitch Abernathy. 

Anyway, Katniss and I both agree that we’d rather take a bullet in the head than die of hunger in the games. The bullet would be quicker, and less painful. Not just for us, but for our families.

After Vick and I sign in, I head over to a group of other eighteen year olds. I don’t acknowledge them. I have nothing to say to them anyway. I glare up at the temporary stage that’s been set up in front of the justice building. It holds three chairs, a podium, and two glass balls full of names, one for boys, and one for girls. Two of the three chairs are occupied by Madge’s father, Mayor Undersee, and Effie Trinket, District twelve’s escort and possibly the most annoying person on the planet. They whisper to each other and look at the empty seat with concern.

At 2 o’clock, the Mayor walks up to the podium and recites the customary speech. It’s always the same one, about the history of Panem and how much we owe the Capitol. Needless to say, I tune it out. At some point during the speech, a very drunk Haymitch Abernathy hobbles on stage and tries to hug Effie Trinket, but nothing else noteworthy happens.

Finally, the speech is over, and Effie Trinket, Bubbly as ever, Jounces over the glass balls to pick the name of whichever girl is destined to die this year. 

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” Says Effie, trying to straighten her wig, which was knocked askew while she was fighting off Haymitch. “I am so very honored to be here with the charming people of district twelve!” as she says this, she looks at Haymitch with disdain. “It is truly my pleasure to see your lovely faces!”

I turn to Katniss in her group of sixteens and offer her a ghost of a smile. As far as reapings go, this one is slightly entertaining, at least. But then Effie trinket steps up to the glass balls filled with the names of all the girls from our district and I feel the smile fall from my face.

“Ladies first!” chirps Effie, and then she’s reaching into the ball for a name.

Twenty of those slips hold Katniss’s name. Five of them hold Madge’s.

But when Effie reads out the name in a clear voice, it’s not Katniss. It’s not even Madge.

It’s Primrose Everdeen. Thousands of slips, and the single slip with her name was chosen.

Primrose Everdeen.

And suddenly, I know what’s going to happen before Prim even starts walking to the stage.

“Prim!” Katniss yells in a strangled voice,running desperately toward her sister. “Prim!”

No one can miss the desperation in her voice. Just before Prim reaches the stage, Katniss sweeps her behind her arm and pushes her away.

“I volunteer,” she gasps. “I volunteer as tribute!”

And just like that, my world shatters.

The Mayor is telling her to come forward, and Prim is screaming hysterically behind Katniss, but I don’t hear any of it. Suddenly, I snap out of it. Prim.

I make my way toward her and pry her off Katniss’s back “Up you go, Catnip,” I say, fighting the choking feeling in my throat. Prim is thrashing against me as I carry her off to her mother, still screaming, and I’m fighting tears. I want to volunteer, to go into the arena with her, to protect her. But her family needs me. And I know Katniss would never forgive me for letting her family go hungry for her sake. That was our agreement. As Peeta Mellark, a boy I’ve seen maybe once before this, shakily makes his way up the stage, I pray that Katniss will survive the games and come home to us. She knows how to hunt, to fight, to kill. She’s strong. If she plays this right, the odds will be in her favor.

Of course, the odds haven’t been very dependable of late.


	3. Chapter 3

POV Madge Undersee :

It was her. Of course it was her. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Suddenly the pin on my dress feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds. I rush towards the justice building. I have to see her.

I get there just after her family and the baker. Gale rushes in a moment later. He does a double take when he sees me, and then glares. I stare coldly back. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. I know the truth.

And the truth is that I’m about to lose one of the only people left in my life.

Aunt Maysilee. Then my mother. Now, Katniss. 

No. I tell myself. She’s not gone yet. And it’s true. Katniss is a fighter. She won’t be a slave to the Capitol. If she goes down, she’ll go down fighting.

So when they call me in to go see her, I’m not weepy or evasive. I’m urgent. “They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?”

“Your pin?” she asks. Obviously, she doesn’t know what it means to me. Good. Maybe she’ll find her own meaning for it. 

“Here, I’ll put it on your dress, all right?” I don’t wait for an answer, I just lean in and pin the mockingjay to her chest, right next to her heart. “Promise you’ll wear it into the arena, Katniss?” I ask desperately. “Promise?”

“Yes,” she says. It’s only fitting that she wears it into the arena, after all. She’s my Maysilee. I will never be the same.

And yet, as the bird rests on her chest, I see the other meaning of the bird shine through. She will not be silent. She will not die out.

I’m in serious danger of tears now, so I kiss her cheek and rush out of the room as quickly as I came. I fight the tears for as long as I can. I’ve always been taught not to let my emotions get the better of me. As if I would after what happened to my mother.

But then I remember the soft look Katniss gets in her eyes when she talks about her sister, and the grief comes crashing down on me all at once. I scream in anguish, and then I sink to my knees and dissolve into tears. I cry for my mother, and Maysilee, and now, Katniss. I’ve never acted like this before, especially in a public place. I always keep calm and collected.

Gale is the only one left in the room, and he looks at me in astonishment, and maybe with a little guilt. But then he quickly shakes himself and heads into the room where Katniss is waiting with her pin. With Maysilee’s pin. 

My body is still shaking, but I dry my eyes and stand up. I exit the justice building and ignore my father’s concerned look. He’s standing with my mother, who fixes her glassy eyed stare on the wall of the justice building. I kiss her on the cheek and head home by myself, wondering if I will ever see my Maysilee again.

Suddenly my grief is replaced with pure, unadulterated rage. The Capitol has taken everything from me. I won't entertain the notion that they took Katniss, too.

She’s going to make them pay.


	4. Chapter 4

POV Cinna  
The train carrying the tributes from twelve arrived about three hours ago. Katniss, this year’s tribute from twelve, is currently being groomed by her prep team. I hope they’re going easy on her, although they never do. You can’t really blame them. They’re so innocent and naive that you can easily recognize that they don’t mean to be insensitive. They just don’t know any better.

The prep team comes to get me and I enter the room where Katniss is waiting. I admire how she took the place of her sister in the reaping. Few people are so loyal, and you can tell that in that moment, her love for her sister outshone anything else. 

“Hello Katniss. I’m Cinna, your stylist,” I say softly.

“Hello,” she replies cautiously.

“Just give me a moment, all right?” I ask, even though she doesn’t have a choice. I walk around her, taking in everything with my eyes. She's short, but she has the strong frame of someone who gets constant exercise. She's skinny, but clearly she is resourceful enough to have found a way to feed herself. If I had to guess I’d say she’s a hunter, which would definitely give her an advantage in the arena. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, so in an attempt to distract her, I ask, “Who did your hair?”

“My mother,” she replies.

““It’s beautiful,” I say truthfully. “Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. she has very clever fingers,”

Katniss eyes me warily, and I can tell I’m nothing like she’s expected. Most of the stylists from the Capitol are flamboyant, surgically enhanced creatures who view the tributes as a piece of meat. 

“You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she says, all but confirming my suspicions.

“Yes, this is my first year in the games.”

“So they gave you District Twelve,” she says bitterly. 

“I asked for District Twelve,” I say with a small smile, offering no further explanation.“Why don’t you put on your robe and we’ll have a chat.”

She pulls on the thin garment and follows me into the room I was previously waiting in. I sit on the couch across from her and push a button on the side of the table. A second table top rises up with our lunch. I can practically feel her tense up, and I look into her eyes. 

I can see her scrutinizing each aspect of the meal, eyes filling with more anger the longer she stares at the meal. She must think we’re horrible. At the push of a button we have food better than anything she’s ever seen in her life. It’s no wonder she was surprised by my quiet nature. In her eyes, we’re prettying her up to die while relaxing on couches eating gourmet meals that we get at the push of a button. It’s like she’s in a zoo, accept we’re the stupid animals who somehow caught the human and are forcing her to perform deadly tricks for our own amusement.

“How despicable we must seem to you,” I say finally. I can see from the surprise on her face I’ve guessed correctly. “No matter. So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes,” I say. “As you know, it’s customary  
to reflect the flavor of the district.”

For the opening ceremony, you’re supposed to wear an outfit that reflects your district's main industry. Coal mining for twelve, agriculture for eleven, and so on. In the past, twelve has had some pretty atrocious outfits. One year the tributes were stark naked except for some black coal powder.

Needless to say this is not what I have in mind.

“So, I’ll be in a coal miner outfit?” she asks, and I can practically see her praying that she won’t end up indecent.

“Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing’s very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable,” I say. I can see the fear in her eyes, and I have to bite back my laughter. I already love this girl, but she’s fun to mess with.

“So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we’re going to focus on the coal,” I say. She thinks she's going to have to do a repeat of that black coal dust incident. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know it, it’s written all over her face. “And what do we do with coal? We burn it,” I say. “You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?”

I see the expression on her face and can no longer stop myself. I grin.

A few hours later, she’s completely decked out in a black unitard that covers her entire body and black leather boots. The highlight of the outfit is the cape, which will be covered in synthetic flames when her carriage is pulled out at the opening ceremony.

“It’s not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You’ll be perfectly safe,” I assure her. “I want the audience to recognize you when you’re in the arena,” I say dreamily. “Katniss, the girl who was on fire.”

I can tell she thinks I’m completely insane. Maybe I am.

Just before their carriage pulls out, I walk up to Katniss and Peeta. “Here we go then,” I say, and before they can react I’ve litten their capes on fire. They gasp, waiting for the heat, but when they do nothing more, I let out a sigh of relief. “It works.” Then I gently tuck a hand under Katniss’s chin.“Remember, heads high. Smiles. They’re going to love you!”

I jump out of the carriage when I’m hit with an idea. “Hold Hands!” I yell. The music is drowning me out, but they seem to get the message because Peeta grabs her hand. They look at me and I nod and give a thumbs up. Just a splash of rebellion. A hint of unity in a world divided.

As the chariot enters the crowd, everyone goes wild. Katniss Is seemingly filled with hope and determination, and she lifts her head and smiles broadly. That’s my girl.  
This will certainly be an interesting games.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days of training and one eventful interview later, Katniss is getting ready to enter the arena. Those three days have only solidified my love for her and my belief in her. She’s a fighter, this one. Stubborn, sarcastic, smart, loyal, and fiercely protective of those she loves. Actually, although she would hate it if I told her so, she reminds me of Haymitch.

I remember how she called me her friend. How she talked about her sister during her interview, all whilst looking into my eyes because she couldn’t bear the thought of telling the whole world about the girl she holds closer to her heart than anything else. How she attacked Peeta when she thought he had humiliated her. How a couple of days ago she shot an arrow at the gamemakers during training, all because they weren’t paying enough attention to her. You don’t need to worry about that, girl on fire, I think to myself. All our eyes will be on you.

I do Katniss’s hair in a simple braid down her back, and then the clothes arrive. They’re provided by the Capitol, based on the terrain, and every tribute gets the same outfit. I had no say in this, and I don’t even know what’s inside. Even so, I help her get dressed, And I examine each part of the outfit. ““The material in the jacket’s designed to reflect body heat. Expect some cool nights,” I say.

After I finish helping her into her outfit, I take out a gold pin, which I assume is her district token. 

“Where did you get that?” Asks Katniss.

“Off the green outfit you wore on the train,” I say. “It’s your district token, right?” She nods and I fasten it on her shirt. “It barely cleared the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But eventually, they let it through,” I say. “They eliminated a ring from that District One girl, though. If you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out. Poisoned one. She claimed she had no knowledge the ring transformed and there was no way to prove she did. But she lost her token. There, you’re all set. Move around. Make sure everything feels comfortable.”

Katniss moves around the room, runs a bit. “Yes, it’s fine. Fits perfectly.”

“Then there’s nothing to do but wait for the call,” I say. “Unless you think you could eat any more?”

She turns down the food but accepts a glass of water. She’s nervous, I can tell, and that nervousness gives way to terror. She squeezes her arm so hard it bruises, and I’m worried she’s about to have a panic attack.

“Do you want to talk, Katniss?” I ask carefully. She shakes her head no, but after a moment she holds out her hands to me. I enclose them in my own and I can hear her breathing slow down. That’s how we sit until a voice from the intercom tells us that it’s time for launch.

Clenching one of my hands for dear life, Katniss leads the way to the circular metal plate that will lift her up into the arena. 

“Remember what Haymitch said. Run, find water. The rest will follow,” I say. She nods somberly, hanging on to my every word. “And remember this. I’m not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.”

“Truly?” she whispers. And she looks so vulnerable in that moment that I wish I could wrap her up in a blanket and hide her where no one could touch her.

“Truly,” I say, and I mean it. This girl is stronger than anything that can come at her, I know it. I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. “Good luck, girl on fire.”

And with that, a glass cylinder comes between us, cutting off our handhold, separating us. I tap my fingers under my chin. Head high.

The cylinder begins to rise,and she lifts her chin and stands up straight. I smile to myself sadly. She’s about to enter a world that will show her no mercy.

And yet, something in me, something I can’t explain, tells me that I will see her again. My girl on fire won’t burn herself out. Not even close.

A voice booms from above. Claudius Templesmith, the legendary announcer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”


End file.
